Blefs'd be the Hills, whofe fruitful Glebes produce
Trees, only fit for fuch a glorious Ufe.
The od'rous Cedar, and the lofty Pine,
And the moift Fir, whofe Balm is Turpentine,
Are only us'd for fome lefs great Design:
Yet they, by wifeft Solomon, were held
The fittest Trees the Houfe of GOD to build.
But ALBION, in those Days an Isle unknown,
Has later Ages, her rich Product shown:
By which her Power o'er all the Globe does stretch,
That ev'n her Ships scarce bound th' extended Reach.
Kind Neptune fhook his Trident o'er the Deep,
And gentle Winds lay only not afleep.
Bright Amphitrite left her fhelly Grove,
Queen of the Seas, and hoary Neptune's Love.
With Coral-Fillets bound her Silver Hair;
And all the Riches that are treafur'd there,
The Nereids cull'd, to grace the naked Fair.
Such Charms around her fhone; which had you feen,
Another Venus, you'd have thought she'd been;
Lefs fair the Dame, whom ancient Stories say,
The Hebrew Elders bathing did furvey.
Attended by her Nymps the Goddess fhone,
(The Nymphs their best Attire had all put on)
Her Trident Amber, and a Couch her Throne:
The Mereman, Glaucus, rul'd her fiery Steeds,
His wither'd Temples bound with Sea-green Weeds:
Whilst fam'd Arion tun'd his well-ftrung Lyre;
And rais'd to boundlefs Joys each Nymphs Defire.
He fung (for who could better fing than he,
The chief Musician of the depthless Sea)
How mighty Jove, once, mad with impious Love
Of fair Europa, left the Realms above:
On the Phænician Coast she sporting stood,
Amidst her Maids, befides the dimpl'd Flood:
When a white Bull came bellowing o'er the Land,
And pleas'd, with wanton Frisks, the youthful Band:
Acrofs his Back the bright Europa strode;
The am'rous Bull, fecur'd thus of his Load,
Made to the Shore, and flounc'd into the Flood.
Her frighted Maids, with Horror in their Eyes,
Urge the high Heavens with unavailing Cries:
Rouz'd at the dreadful Noife, I rais'd my Head,
And faw the Queen to Creta's Coast convey'd.
Thus as he sung; to his reviving Lay,
On the smooth Seas, delighted Dolphins play:
Whilft on his Harp the various Notes combine,
To speak the Artist, and the Art divine.
But thro' the thronged Belgian Streets was feen
A different Face of Things, another Scene.
As, on the Fields, the induftrious Ants around,
Spread a large Troop, and blacken all the Ground;
That, whilst the Sun darts forth his Summer's Heat,
Store up 'gainst Winter's Cold their lafting Meat:
So the thick People warm the darken'd Shore;
And a propitious Voyage all implore:
Whilft great Auguftus, with his British Train,
Trufts all our Hopes to the uncertain Main.
Loud Shouts of Acclamations rend the Skies,
The grateful Tokens of the Peoples Joys.
Now, with full Sails, the Ships begin to sweep
The azure Plain, and cleave the yielding Deep:
So fimooth and calm the Sea, the Sky fo clear;
As when the Fishers Ship it's Saviour Lord did bear.
Waft him, ye Winds, and Tides, fecurely o'er,
Waft him, but waft him foon to Albion's Shore.
Let no falfe Gale afide his Veffel turn;
And, by ill-fated Chance, make Albion Mourn;
As when the Winds, and angry Juno, tost
Fair Venus Off-fpring from his deftin'd Coaft:
Our well-built Ships do bear a greater Load,
A happier Prince, and ENGLAND'S chiefeft Good.
Our Pray'rs are heard: Tama receives her Lord,
(Tama by all the Water-Nymphs ador'd)
Around his gilded Barge fhe joyful fings
The Nation's Wealth, and Glory of her Kings,
Her Chryftal Streams rowl over Golden Ore;
And bulwark'd Towers adorn her fertile Shore.
But fee our great DEFENDER safely land,
And crouding round him thankful Britons stand;
With heighten'd Joy they fhout; and, with Amaze,
In awful Distance, at his Perfon gaze:
Where every Virtue in fuch Light appears,
As fpeaks the facred Image that he bears.
On his left Hand the Prince does move along,
Sedate, yet fprightly; beautiful, yet strong.
Third Edward's Son we fee in him revive;
And view the Black-Prince, once again, alive.
May like Success still sparkle on his Sword,
To conquer Rebels, and confefs it's Lord;
To raise new Subjects for the Poet's Song;
Trophies in joyful Britain's Temple hung,
Wreath'd round with Lawrel, ever green,
Paint him, ye Poets, in immortal Strains:
His Virtues will excite your utmost Pains,
To me, the meaneft of your Tribe belongs,
To show the HERO worthy of your Songs:
For nobler Pens I leave the great Design,
Those who cou'd fing great William on the Boyn,
May find a Subject here, which can ev❜n that outshine.
Henceforth, the Bard no more fhall rack his Brain,
And from old Stories for Examples strain;
To paint a future Hero in his Verse,
Thy Virtues, Prince, he only needs rehearse:
That copious Subject will his Pen employ,
And Repetitions, there, will never cloy.
But now the wifh'd-for lovely Morning gilds
The ftately Palace, and the verdant Fields:
From every quarter of the Town repair,
To fee, and to be feen, the well-dreft Fair.
So the thick People warm the darken'd Shore;
And a propitious Voyage all implore:
Whilft great Auguftus, with his British Train,
Trufts all our Hopes to the uncertain Main.
Loud Shouts of Acclamations rend the Skies,
The grateful Tokens of the Peoples Joys.
Now, with full Sails, the Ships begin to sweep
The azure Plain, and cleave the yielding Deep:
So fmooth and calm the Sea, the Sky fo clear;
As when the Fishers Ship it's Saviour Lord did bear.
Waft him, ye Winds, and Tides, fecurely o'er,
Waft him, but waft him foon to Albion's Shore.
Let no falfe Gale aside his Vessel turn;
And, by ill-fated Chance, make Albion Mourn;
As when the Winds, and angry Juno, tost
Fair Venus Off-fpring from his destin'd Coast:
Our well-built Ships do bear a greater Load,
A happier Prince, and ENGLAND'S chiefeft Good.
Our Pray'rs are heard: Tama receives her Lord,
(Tama by all the Water-Nymphs ador'd)
Around his gilded Barge she joyful sings
The Nation's Wealth, and Glory of her Kings,
Her Chrystal Streams rowl over Golden Ore;
And bulwark'd Towers adorn her fertile Shore.
But fee our great DEFENDER fafely land,
And crouding round him thankful Britons ftand;
With heighten'd Joy they fhout; and, with Amaze,
In awful Distance, at his Perfon gaze:
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